


Sweet De-feet

by fhartz91



Series: Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020 [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Eve, Daddies!Klaine, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Husbands, Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020, Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Twas the night before Christmas,And all through the house,Not a creature was stirring'cept two grown menAnd about a thousand ants ...Or, the story about why the thought of his daughter growing up made Blaine pour icing sugar all over the floor.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039725
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Klaine Advent 2020





	Sweet De-feet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'careless'. Sort of follows the one-shot I wrote for Klainetober "Scorched Earth". You don't have to read that one to understand this one. It just happens to go into the start of the 'ant war'.

“Blaine …!”

_Fssst!_

“I know, I know!”

_Fssst!_

“If you _know_ , why did you do this?”

_Fssst!_

“I saw it on Pinterest. It looked like a fun idea.”

“There’s your first mistake,” Kurt grumbles, swatting at his arms when he feels tiny feet race along his skin. "Pinterest is evil."

“It’s Christmas Eve! I got excited!” Blaine turns abruptly, burying his head into the crook of his arm when the cloud of Raid Kurt sprays sends him into a coughing fit. “I may not have been thinking very clearly.”

“You think!? We still have an entire FAO Schwartz worth of presents to wrap! Instead, we’re in the kitchen battling ants because _you_ invited their buggy asses in!”

_Fssst!_

“It’s not like I scooped them up by the handfuls and carried them inside!”

“No, you did the next best thing! You poured _icing sugar_ all over the damned floor! Sugar, Blaine! That’s pretty much all ants eat!”

_Fssst!_

“It’s not _all over the floor_! They’re footprints. They’re supposed to be … Santa’s … footprints …” Blaine explains, backing down in the face of his husband’s rage.

His completely reasonable rage.

“We have been fighting ants all summer! There are a dozen things in this house you could have used instead of sugar! What possessed you to do something so … so careless?”

Blaine sighs. He sets his can of Raid on the kitchen counter, then leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest like an embarrassed kindergartner. “Tracy.”

“What about Tracy?”

“She’s six.”

Kurt puts his own can down, waiting silently for the rest of it. He’s already reached the end of his rope. He’s hanging on by his fingernails. It’s too late at night … correction - early in the _morning!_ … for this conversation. “Yes, and …?”

“And she’s not going to believe in Santa for too much longer. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced she does _now_. She probably writes her letter every year and puts out cookies to humor us.”

Kurt nods, joining his husband against the counter. He’s gotten that feeling as well. Not for any big reason. It’s not like she’s sat him down to have “the talk”. Her eyes still light up at the mention of Christmas, she’s still as excited as ever to partake in all of their holiday rituals. But it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. It doesn’t have the same energy. He doesn’t know if someone at school clued her in or if she figured it out on her own. 

But something has changed. 

“That’s a possibility,” Kurt agrees.

“Cooper’s the one who ruined Santa Claus for me,” Blaine says with the subtlest of sniffles, the slightest brush of a fingertip underneath his eye. Whatever he’s feeling - fear, nostalgia, melancholy - he’s hiding it from Kurt. Badly. “Told me about him when I was _four_.”

“I thought Cooper might have something to do with this,” Kurt teases, even while, deep inside, he seethes. They won’t be seeing Cooper or any of their family this year because of the pandemic. It’s going to be a Very Merry Facetime Christmas for the Ander-Hummel household and their extendeds. But next time they get the chance to see one another face to face, Kurt plans on spiking Cooper’s whiskey sour with something that will give him the shits for a week.

“Did you?” Blaine says dryly. “And why’s that?”

“Because Cooper’s an _ass_ , that’s why! You’re a saint for putting up with a third of his crap!” 

Blaine snorts humorlessly. “Weren’t you the one with the huge crush on him in high school?”

“Yeah, well, that was before I met him, talked to him for longer than a minute. The shine of the whole Free-Credit-Rating-Today-dot-com-slash-savings thing wears thin after a while. I’d say I ended up with the better of the Anderson brothers. Definitely the one with the nicer rump.” Kurt bumps Blaine with his shoulder, trying to coax a laugh out of him. He doesn’t get one, but he gets an arm around his middle, accompanied by one of Blaine’s lingering squeezes. And despite the fact Kurt imagines the two of them are being scaled like a monolith by microscopic intruders, he’s willing to stay as long as possible in the warmth of Blaine’s embrace.

“I just want her to be a kid for as long as possible,” Blaine says. “That’s all.”

“She’s _six._ She’s not going to get a job tomorrow and move into a high rise. We have time.”

“But it will happen. Everything is going by so fast. I feel like I blink and she’s another year older, another foot taller. I don’t want childhood to be one of those things that disappear in the blink of an eye while I’m racing to catch up, wondering where it all went.”

“I know.” Kurt curls into his husband’s side and kisses him on the top of his head. “I understand. I feel that way, too. Tracy and I … we’ll sit down to play together ... we’ll talk and laugh, and before I know it, an hour has gone by. And I start thinking - is every moment with her going to be like that? Just fly by? Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, count to ten. I try to slow down and take it all in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just like that.”

“You and I are in the privileged position to take a break from life during these hectic times and focus on our little girl. So let’s remember to do that a little more often. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine says with another sniffle.

“Okay,” Kurt repeats. And as much as he would love to stay snuggled in this moment with his husband all night, he feels something scurry up his inner thigh, in danger of becoming too intimately acquainted without the courtesy of buying him dinner first. “Come on, Saint Nick,” Kurt says, smacking his leg. “You sweep up the sugar and the ant corpses. I’ll get some Plaster of Paris from the closet, and we can re-do these footprints.”

“Really?” Blaine says with relief, as if his husband offering his help in this matter might push back the clocks, halt the outcome he feared, for one more year.

“Really. Let’s save the icing sugar for decorating dessert.”

“That’s right,” Blaine says, wiping a few traitorous tears on the shoulder of his shirt, hoping his husband doesn't notice the dark marks. “I can't stop thinking about all the cookies you made, and that three-tiered cake …”

"You know what I can't wait to put icing all over and devour?"

"What's that?"

Kurt grabs his husband by the waist and pulls him close. He kisses him on the cheek. Then he pinches his butt. _"You.”_


End file.
